


what light through yonder window breaks?

by sarkany



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Gen, Harry's deader than a doornail here, and merlin's temper, mentions of merlin, not that he really has a temper per se, sorry y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 16:06:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6665260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarkany/pseuds/sarkany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy settles back and starts to eat. He briefly entertains the horrifying notion that this is Charlie’s idea of a date, but no.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what light through yonder window breaks?

The bistro down the road sells the most  _ fantastic  _ watercress sandwiches. So when Eggsy bumps into a pleasant-faced man, he’s thinking of maybe getting a tart or two to wash down with tea and not paying attention to the bustle of lunch-hour London. 

“Sorry,” he says automatically, checking to make sure that his keys, wallet, pen are still in their respective pockets. He’d pulled that trick back in the day; businessmen on their lunch breaks universally would rather get on with eating than mind the clumsy teen that just crashed into them. 

The man has the kind of fuck-off gorgeous good looks that inevitably result in douchebaggery, but his clothes are the faded grey that comes from being washed one to many times. From the cut, the suit was once in good nick, maybe six or ten laundromats ago.  

“Eggsy?” the bloke exclaims, with the vigor of high school classmates bumping into each other by chance long after graduation. “Eggsy Unwin?”

Eggsy takes in the blade-fine nose, the impeccable posture that comes from years of etiquette classes. 

“Hesketh,” he says, sounding pleasantly surprised. If a decade long career in espionage has taught him anything, it’s how to be genial to people who he wouldn’t mind beating to death with their own spine. Or how to remain calm after running into a man he thought he’d  _ electrocuted  _ to death more than a decade ago. 

“Look, I was wondering if- that is if you’d be amenable- actually, can we grab lunch?” Charlie ask, palms jittering over his trouser pockets. 

If Eggsy didn’t get him his daily fix of watercress sandwiches and scones within the next ten minutes, Merlin was going to make everybody’s life a living hell. 

But Charlie hasn’t breathed at all in the last ten seconds that Eggsy’s spent staring at him. Eggsy’s used to seeing those tells on double-crossers and green informants.  Eggsy tips his head towards the bistro, and Charlie nearly deflates in relief. A bit of waiting would be good for Merlin.

By unanimous silent agreement, they both head outside after ordering and settle onto one of the fancy wrought-iron, glass topped tables. Less chance of being overheard next to the bustle of lunch hour London. Charlie starts shredding the top piece of bread in quick, efficient movements. Twice, he draws breath to talk, but inevitably fails to force words out of his mouth. 

Eggsy settles back and starts to eat. He briefly entertains the horrifying notion that this is Charlie’s idea of a date, but no. Back during proposal training, Charlie had the unshakable sense of self-worth that came from possessing both an attractive face and enough money to bribe the minister. Even if his fortunes are falling, the arrogance that came with his upbringing would be hard to shake.

Charlie finally manages, “I wanted to apologize.” 

Eggsy doesn’t choke on his sandwich but it’s a near thing. 

At the absolute blankness on Eggsy’s face, Charlie elaborates earnestly, “For how I treated you during proposal training.” Charlie  _ had  _ been an enormous prat and the ringleader for douche-circus of rich toffs, but that had hardly been the worst discrimination Eggsy’s faced. Eggsy had consistently gotten worse back at the estates from people unafraid of using their fists at someone smaller than them, and even more damningly, someone gay and proud about it. Heck, Charlie had been downright civilized in comparison.

Besides, it’s been over a decade since proposal training (eleven years, three months, two hours since V-day and since Harry was shot in front of that thrice-damned church), and in the intervening time, he has both matured and grown into himself. For one, Eggsy has finally, finally stopped mimicking that last vestiges of Harry’s accent, his posture. When JB finally died, Eggsy had his pug cremated and positioned in a nice decorative pot next to Mr. Pickle. 

Eggsy finally puts his spy training to use and really looks at Charlie, who is wearing a suit two seasons out of fashion, who has got calluses on his fingertips and ink on his cuffs. Charlie looks like any working class hooray, out for a bit of fresh air for his lunch break, and trying to save enough for a nice vacation to Italy. 

“Don’t sweat it,” Eggsy says. He’s confident of his position in his world. He doesn’t need to hold Charlie’s contrition over the sod’s head, to taunt Charlie with their reversal of fortune.  _ You should have asked me for a seat first _ , Harry’s voice echoes warmly in his head. That’s really what being a gentleman is about innit? Not any of the flash, of smashing a pint glass against Rottie’s head, of the Savile row suits and Givenchy watches.  

Then realizing that could come off as passive aggressive, he appends, “I forgave you for that long ago.”

Because sure Charlie hadn’t been nice or good or any that shit, but overall, underneath all the wealth and prattishness, he’d been a normal bloke, who wasn’t really cut out to be a spy. Eggsy’s gotten used to the immediate sneering disdain of posh fuckers upon hearing his accent, and really there’s worse things in the world than classism.

“That easily?” Charlie sounds gutted, like he expected Eggsy to flog him through the streets and to gain his redemption through blood and pain and sacrifice.

“No point in my taking a pound of your flesh,” Eggsy shrugs, checks his watch, and yelps, “Hey, I’ve got to be going now. Nice catching you.”

Then he goes and buys Merlin’s sandwich. Two sandwiches actually, because Merlin’s temper was a thing to behold when low on blood sugar. 

The midafternoon bustle of London parts and swallows Eggsy whole. 

Charlie tries to follow him through the crowd, but all that’s left is the faint impression of cologne.  _ Blue Diamond _ if he’s not mistaken. Charlie eats the rest of his sandwich, enjoys the rare sunshine on his face. 

Breathes.  

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, Charlie lives but his family completely loses their fortune in the wake of V-day. Sort of a redemption arc (insofar as something this short can do that. I've got things planned but not really)? Because I firmly believe that everybody can become better versions of themselves, no matter where they start off. 
> 
> So I want to continue this, but really, that's probably never going to happen


End file.
